


Psy-chick

by Absolutely_Corrupted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death(s), Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Nightmares, Psychic Abilities, Ripple Effect, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolutely_Corrupted/pseuds/Absolutely_Corrupted
Summary: Deviates from 1X22. The future is thrown into disarray the minute Leigh steps into the Winchesters' lives. She's trying to change what she can, without making things worse, but there are things even a psychic can't see. Meanwhile, a grieving Dean and Sam are left dealing with the consequences of her actions. Dean's suspicious, Sam's hopeful, and the demon Meg is out for blood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Follows season 1 finale at first, then deviates near the end. After this chapter I will never again intentionally use dialogue from the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to fanfiction, I like the idea of deviating from canon very early on in the story. Why rehash something when you can build off it? Spin it in a new direction?

 

**S1E22 – the deviation**

_“You boys really screwed up this time.”_

The voice on the end of the line sends a chill down Dean’s spine and suddenly he feels cold all over.

“Where is he.” It’s a demand, not a question, bitten out between clenched teeth.

The she-demon makes no effort to hide her smug satisfaction. _“You’re never going to see your father again.”_

The call ends and Dean snaps the phone shut with stiff, uncoordinated fingers. If Meg were in front of him right now, Dean would lunge. He wants to wrap his hands around her throat and _squeeze_ until he never has to hear her low, mocking drawl ever again. As it is, he can barely muster the patience to answer Sam’s frantic questions.

The situation is dire.

Dad is captured, maybe even _dead_ , but it’s not like he and Sam are any better off. There are only three bullets left in the colt and no way of knowing what’s coming for them. They need to leave, _now._

 _‘Grab the gun, the duffel, your brother and get out. Grab the gun, the duffel, your brother and get out. Grab the gun–’_ The words cycle through his head on repeat, in a voice that sounds uncomfortably like his father’s.

“Dean? Dean! What are you doing?!” Sam is looking at him with his brow furrowed, clearly oblivious to the urgency of their situation.

“What do you think?” He snaps. “We gotta go. Grab your stuff.”

“What? No!” Sam steps forward, clearly agitated. “This is the perfect opportunity. The demon knows where we are. We need to stay, set a trap – end this once and for all!”

Times like these, Dean wonders how on earth Sam grew up to be so goddamn _thick._ “Are you out of your mind?” He takes a breath, tries to reel in his frustration. “We’re not ready. For all we know, there could be dozens of demons on their way right now. We need to get out, find someplace to lie low and come up with a plan.”

Sam’s jaw clenches and he looks ready to argue, but there’s no time. “We’re leaving. _Now_.” Dean doesn’t wait for a response, stalking out before his brother can get another word in. He’s almost past the threshold when he finally hears the sound of Sam following after. It’s a relief, but it’s also painfully short-lived. He still needs to figure out where they should go and come up with a plan to get their dad back.

He starts thinking about their next course of action on the way to the car, but nothing that comes to mind seems like a viable option. He doesn’t know enough about demons and what they’re capable of. Besides that, their opponent is a smart son-of-a-bitch, to have evaded Dad for this long. It’ll spot any trap Dean comes up with a mile away.

 _‘Damn it!’_ Frustrated, he slams the trunk and climbs behind the wheel, barely waiting for Sam to slide into the passenger seat before peeling out. He doesn’t slow down at all on the way out of town – red lights and stop signs be damned.

“I still think we could’ve taken them.” The words shatter the silence.

“What we need is a plan,” Dean reiterates. “They’re probably keeping Dad alive, so we’ve just got to figure out where. They’re gonna want to trade him for the gun.” Talking aloud helps, it brings a bit of order to his otherwise chaotic thoughts. If he can just get the facts out there, maybe he and Sam can come up with something.

Only… Sam’s not saying anything.

Dean glances over to find his brother shaking his head in apparent disbelief.

“What?”

“Dean–” Sam clears his throat, starts again. “If that were true, don’t you think Meg would have mentioned a trade?” A sinking feeling enters Dean’s stomach. “I mean, for all we know, Dad could be d–”

 _“Don’t.”_ Dean’s not sure what he’s asking. ‘Don’t say it,’ or ‘don’t let it be true,’ but his brother stops all the same. Unfortunately, Sam’s never been too good at keeping his mouth shut for long. He starts going on about killing the demon, about how Dad would have wanted them to finish the job.

“Screw the job, Sam!” Why is Dean the only one in this godforsaken family who cares more about their lives than revenge? What good is the demon’s death going to be if none of them are around to enjoy it?

Sam’s voice is almost gentle when he speaks next. “I’m just trying to do what Dad would want.”

“Quit talking about him like he’s dead already!” Dean roars. It’s ironic that Sam wants to follow in their father’s footsteps _now_ , when he’s spent his entire life so far fighting the man tooth and nail on every little thing. He takes a steadying breath. “Listen, we’re going to get Dad back.” They have to. “ _That’s_ our priority right now. Everything else stops until we do. You understand me? _Everything_.”

Mercifully, Sam deflates with a quiet sigh. “Okay, how are we going to find him?”

“We can go to Lincoln, start at the warehouse where he was taken. Maybe there’s some sort of trail we can follow.”

Sam scoffs. “You really think they’re are going to leave a trail? They never have before.”

It’s true. In all the years their family has hunted the thing, there’s never been a trail. Signs before it strikes, sure, but never anything to follow afterwards. It all boils down to the fact that they don’t know what they’re dealing with, not really anyway. If only there were some way to find out more– “You’re right.” Sam looks over at him in surprise. “We need help.” And Dean has just the man for the job.

.

.

.

Bobby Singer is a wealth of information. With his help, they might actually stand a chance. Even Sam seems to see it, flicking through Bobby’s book with something like wonder in his eyes.

“And these protective circles – they really work?”

“Oh yeah,” says Bobby. “You get a demon in one and they’re trapped. Powerless too.” He chuckles. “Like a satanic roach motel.”

Dean walks over, smirking. “Told you he could help. Bobby knows his stuff.”

Bobby dips his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “I’ll tell ya something else too.” The older man looks back and forth between Dean and his brother. “This is some serious shit you boys have stepped in.”

“How’s that?” asks Sam.

“Well, in a normal year, I hear about three, maybe four, demonic possessions total.” He shakes his head. “This year, there’ve been twenty-seven… So far.” Dean feels his frown deepen as Bobby continues. “More and more demons are walking among us. A lot more.”

“Do you know why?” Sam takes the words right out of Dean’s mouth.

“No,” Bobby admits. “But I know it’s something big. And you boys, your daddy – you’re smack in the middle of it.”

Dean exchanges a grim look with his brother, but is spared the trouble of coming up with a response when Bobby’s dog starts barking. The sound is abruptly cut off. They don’t have to wonder why for long.

Meg kicks in the door with a grunt. “No more crap, okay?”

Holy water in hand, Dean stalks forward. He barely makes it two steps before he’s thrown violently into a stack of books in the corner. The blow to his head knocks him senseless for a moment, but he does his best to shake it off.

Slowly, so as to give Sam time to draw the demon into the other room, he gets his feet under him and shuffles after them. He makes it just in time to hear, “…Did you _really_ think I wouldn’t find you?”

“Actually,” Dean says. “We were counting on it.” She looks confused, so Dean lets his eyes flick upwards.

Her expression when she sees the circle overhead is the best thing he’s seen all day.

“Gotcha.”

.

.

.

The events that follow are a blur. Exorcising the she-demon, speaking to the real Meg, watching her die, using the colt, finding their father… It’s all too much.

Then Dad starts saying things Dean _knows_ he doesn’t mean. Saying he’s proud of Dean, that he made the right choice. God, it’s just one more fucked up thing to deal with on an already fucked up day.

“You’re not my dad.”

There’s a heartbroken expression on Dad’s – no, the _demon’s_ face. “Alright then,” he says quietly. “If you’re so sure, pull the trigger.” He looks resigned to it, letting his gaze drop to the floor as if he can’t bear to look at Dean any longer.

Dean’s gun arm trembles, but he doesn’t lower the colt. Of course, he can’t bring himself to shoot either. If there’s even the slightest chance–

“I thought so.”

The yellow eyes are no real surprise, but it still hurts like hell when Dean realizes he was right – his dad would never be proud of him. Especially not for something as _weak_ as choosing family over his quest for revenge.

Being slammed into the wall is almost pleasant in comparison.

“This thing has caused me quite a bit of grief.” Yellow Eyes picks up the colt and examines it with obvious distaste.

“It’s you,” Sam says, the tendons in his neck straining as he fights the demon’s hold. _“I’m gonna kill you.”_

“That’d be a neat trick.” The demon is grinning with their dad’s mouth. “Here,” he places the gun on the table. “Go ahead psychic boy. Use your powers – make the gun float to you.” Sam glares. “No? Alright then.” Yellow Eyes turns his back on him, stepping towards Dean with obvious excitement.

“I could have killed you a hundred times today,” he says conversationally. “But this? This is worth the wait.” He tilts his head. “You know, your daddy’s in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit.” The glee in his voice is unmistakable. “ _He’s gonna tear you apart._ ”

Dean fights to turn his head, trying to make eye contact. He wants this bastard to _see_ the murder in his eyes. “You let him go or I swear to God-”

“What are you and God gonna do? Huh?” He stalks closer to Dean, gets up in his face. “As far as I’m concerned, this is justice.” His voice gets deeper, harder. “That demon you exorcised? That was my _daughter._ The one you shot? That was my _son.”_

Dean feels his eyebrows creep upwards. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“What?” the demon asks. “You think you’re the only one that can have a family? How would you feel if I killed yours? Oh wait,” he says. “I already did.”

Dean opens his mouth to retort- “I wanna know why,” Sammy says, beating him to the punch. “Why’d you do it?”

Yellow Eyes turns and approaches his brother. “You mean why I killed your mommy and pretty little Jess?” The demon starts taunting him, really getting into it – but Dean’s no longer paying attention. A girl is peaking around the doorway to his right, wide eyed and scared. She looks like a runaway. _How the hell did she get in here without us noticing?_ He feels his stomach sink. They don’t need any more innocents dragged into this mess.

Making sure Yellow Eyes is completely focused on Sam, he jerks his head at her, mouthing ‘go’ as silently as he can. She hesitates, looking unsure. _Please,_ Dean thinks desperately, _just go!_

She does, finally, and Dean takes the opportunity to draw the demon’s attention away from his brother. “You mind getting this over with? Because I really can’t stand the monologuing.”

“Funny,” the demons says. “But that’s your M.O. isn’t it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth.”

“Oh yeah? What truth is that?”

Yellow Eyes grins. “They don’t need you, not like you need them.” Dean fights to keep his face impassive. “Sam is clearly John’s favorite. Even when they fight, it’s more concern than he’s ever shown you.”

Pressing his lips together so they don’t tremble, Dean forces a smile. “I bet you’re real proud of your kids too, huh? Oh wait. I forgot – I wasted ‘em.”

A horrible tearing sensation wipes the false smile from his face. Sam starts calling his name, clearly worried, but Dean can’t spare him any thought. He’s too preoccupied with the way the demon in his father is carving him open.

_BANG!_

For a brief moment, his Dad’s face morphs into an expression of shock. Then, suddenly, the yellow leaves his eyes and a wide, relieved smile spreads. The force holding Dean to the wall disappears and together the two of them sink to the floor. “Dad?” Ignoring his own pain for a moment, Dean looks down with his heart in his throat. With his father prone against him, he can just make out the bloodstain spreading across his upper back. _“DAD?!”_

“It’s okay, son.” The words have barely left his lips before he slumps sideways, eyes fluttering shut. Sam’s there before he can hit the ground, dropping to his knees and cradling their dad in his arms. He and Dean exchange shocked, helpless looks as the last flashes of the colt’s magic drain their father’s life from his body.

All too soon, he’s gone.

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind Sam. “Please, let me help.” It’s the girl from before – the one he saw in the doorway. She’s white as a ghost, but her mouth is pressed into a thin line and her eyes are hard.

Sam looks from the girl back to Dean, and his eyes widen as he takes in the extent of the lines ripped into Dean’s chest. “Dean-” he starts.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean cuts his brother off. This girl may have killed the demon, but she also killed their father. They have no idea who she is or what she wants, let alone how she found them in the first place.

She seems to realize this because she lifts her hands up, palms out. Unfortunately, the fact that she’s still holding the colt ruins the gesture. “Leigh – I’m a psychic.” She reads the skepticism on his face and grimaces. “Look, I can explain later. Right now, I just want to get my first aid kit and help.”

Usually he’d argue, but he’s seconds away from passing out. “Sam, go with her.” After everything that’s just happened, she’s too suspicious to be left alone. The last thing they need is for her to mess up the salt lines while he’s bleeding out on the floor.

“But Dean-”

“Go!”

Sam gently lowers Dad’s prone form to the ground before following after her. Dean only closes his eyes for a moment, but the next thing he knows, he’s spread out on the floor with his head in Sam’s lap. The girl, Leigh, has her knees on either side of his chest and is intensely focused on some point beneath his collar bone. “What’s-”

“Shh,” Sam hushes him. “She’s on the last row of stitches. We can talk when she’s done.”

Too tired to argue, Dean closes his eyes again. He doesn’t re-open them until he hears Leigh say, “Last one.” She makes quick work of it, lightly tugging the stitch to the side to offset the knot from the center of the wound. “Done.”

She moves back so Sam can prop him upright. “We need to leave – all of us.”

“No shit,” Dean mumbles.

The other two ignore him. “How though?” Sam asks. “Yellow Eyes is bound to have followers. Hell, they’re probably waiting outside.”

Leigh shakes her head. “He wanted to handle you alone,” she says. “None of the other demons know what he had planned. They’re waiting for his signal.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m psychic, remember?” She starts packing up her first aid kit. “Anyway, they won’t wait forever. The sooner we get out of here the better our chances of survival.” She shoves the kit into a backpack Dean’s only just noticed and checks her watch. “We don’t have much time. Grab the colt. I’ll help you get your brother to your car.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Barely conscious, Dean lets the rest of their conversation wash over him as an incomprehensible jumble. He stays awake only long enough to make sure he and his brother make it safely to the Impala. After that, he’s out like a light.


	2. Chapter 2

“You need to get out of here, head south west.” Leigh had meant to say something kind, but she’s not surprised at what comes out instead. She’s always been uncomfortable with acknowledging grief, whether it’s her own or someone else’s. Ah well, it’s too late to backtrack, and this needs to be said. “Don’t make it linear. As long as you trend in that general direction you should be safe.”

Sam looks up from where he’s busy arranging Dean in the back seat. “What about you?”

“I’ll head north east. It’ll make tracking you harder.” Her bag is bulging with the unusually large first aid kit she’d used on Dean. She hikes it higher and shifts on her feet. “There’s a hex bag that will hide you from demons,” and _angels_ , she adds mentally. “I have an extra one, if you want it.”

“You’re a _witch?_ ” He doesn’t sound angry, exactly, but he doesn’t sound pleased.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m a psychic, like I said. It’s just something I picked up.” She glances back at the cabin, where the demon died, and then back to Sam. “It’s your choice, and you don’t have to keep it any longer than you want to. I’ll even leave you instructions to make one yourself.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” She nods towards a copse of trees a little ways away. “My car’s over there. Do you want it or not? It’s your choice, but you have to make it soon.” Even if the demons are waiting on a signal, they will eventually figure out what happened. They can’t afford to linger here.

Frowning, Sam stares hard into her eyes before nodding. “Get it.”

She jogs over to the trees and through them. Her car, a boring grey sedan with expired plates, is hidden on the other side. It’s covered by leaves and large strips of moss, but nothing actually heavy enough to hinder movement. She sweeps a chunk of it aside and kneels in the dirt to unlock the trunk. It’s only the work of a second or two to grab a spare hex bag and some drinks and shove them into her bag.

Sam has the colt trained on her when she returns, but he lowers it once she’s close enough for him to see she’s still alone and unarmed.

“Here,” she hands him the hex bag and pulls a scrap of paper from her pocket. “These are instructions to make another if you don’t want to rely on mine. Keep it within twenty yards or so, especially for the next two weeks. And _keep your heads down_. It’ll prevent magical or demonic tracking, but if you run into a demon by accident or let someone trail you physically it won’t be any help.”

He takes it from her carefully, still suspicious. When nothing happens, he opens the driver’s side door and reaches across the seat to place the bag and the instructions in the glove compartment. He stands afterwards, facing her. “I’m going back inside for my dad.”

Immediately, Leigh wants to protest, to tell him that there isn’t time, but considering her role in the man’s death, she doesn’t dare. She nearly leaps out of her skin when Sam presses the colt into her hands. Then he places a sheathed knife on top of the car. “Kill anything that tries to come after Dean.” The unspoken threat of what he’ll do to her if anything happens to his brother has her nodding jerkily.

Sam locks the car and without another word he disappears inside.

Gripping the colt with sweaty fingers, Leigh stands on the balls of her feet beside the rear door. She glances through the window at Dean’s pale face every few seconds, just to make sure he’s still there.

It’s nerve-racking in the dark. At least with Sam there she hadn’t felt so alone. Now, with Dean’s life in her hands, the shadows seem many times more ominous.

Mercifully, Sam is quick. Leigh waits for him to unlock the car and then wordlessly opens the passenger side door. She doesn’t try to help him maneuver the body. Instead, she goes back to watching the shadows.

When the door finally slams she lowers the gun and offers it to him grip-first. He takes it and opens his mouth to speak.

“We need to go,” she says, cutting off whatever he was about to say. She fishes blindly in her bag for the drinks she’d grabbed earlier. “Here,” she presses the Gatorades into his hands. “He’ll need fluids when he wakes up.” She stares hard into his eyes, craning her neck to do so. “Remember what I said. And good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She manages a wan smile and then takes off at a run. She’s eager to make her own escape. So far, no one else in the game is aware of her existence. She’d really, _really_ like to keep it that way.

* * *

 

Sam’s been driving for three hours when he finally thinks to pull his phone out. He clicks through his contacts one handed and then presses it to his ear.

Bobby picks up on the first ring. “Sam? Are you boys okay?”

He determinedly does not look to his right. “Dad’s dead.” It comes out harsher than he’d meant it to. Despite their falling out, Bobby and his dad were friends once.

The older hunter seems to take it in stride, barely faltering before he asks, “What about Dean?”

“He’s…” Sam glances in the rear view, watching his brother’s chest rise and fall. “Alive. Injured.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Sam’s voice is bitter.

“Damn it, Sam.” Bobby’s patience is clearly worn thin. “What the hell happened?”

The story comes tumbling out. Everything that’s happened since he last saw Bobby. His voice cracks, and he can feel his eyes water, but it needs to be told. “-then he started tearing into Dean. It was bad Bobby. If it hadn’t been for Leigh…”

“Leigh?” Bobby repeats, speaking up for the first time since Sam started.

“She, uh, says she’s a psychic. Came outta nowhere.” He scrubs a hand over his face, still partially in disbelief over how everything turned out. “One minute the demon was ripping Dean’s chest open, the next she was standing there with the colt in hand and Dad was on the ground.” He sucks in a harsh breath. “I didn’t even notice her, I was so focused on Dean.”

“And the demon?”

“He’s gone too. For good.” There’s not as much satisfaction in the statement as he’d thought there’d be. How can there be? Dad is _dead._

“Christ almighty,” Bobby breathes. “What did she do next? Did she threaten you? Steal the colt?” The idea of her stealing the colt makes Sam’s blood run cold.

“No.” He tries not to think about what would have happened if she’d been there to take advantage of them. He’d left his brother _alone_ with her – practically defenseless, with only a locked door between them. “She was there to help. She grabbed a first aid kit and stitched Dean up as neatly as any professional would’ve.” He’d taken note of that, even in the moment. “She left the colt on the ground while she worked. Told me to pick it up when she was done.

“She helped us,” he continued. “Even gave us a hex bag to prevent the other demons from finding us.”

“And you _trusted_ her?” Bobby snaps, understandably incredulous. “She could’ve been a demon herself!”

“What choice did I have?” Sam asks bleakly. “Dad was dead. Dean was bleeding out. And I didn’t know what was waiting for us outside. Leigh had all the answers.”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before he asks, “Is she with you now?”

“No. She went in the opposite direction – said it would make it harder for us to be found.”

Bobby sighs. “Well, you were bound to have good luck at least once in your life. Where are you now?”

“Running,” Sam says. “Leigh said Yellow Eyes’ followers would be out for revenge. I’m trying to get far enough away to make sure they can’t track us the normal way. Once I’m reasonably sure we’re clear I’ll stop to wake Dean and deal with Dad.”

“Sam…” Bobby’s pity is clear in his voice. “Call me when you decide on a destination. I’ll meet you.”

It says a lot about Sam’s current mental state that he agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

“Dean. _Dean._ Wake up!”

Dean comes to all at once. _“Dad!”_ he gasps, choking on nothing. “Where’s-?” The night comes rushing back. “No.” The denial is weak, barely more than a whisper. He tries to sit up only for Sam to firmly press him back down.

“Calm down, Dean. You’ll tear your stitches!”

The warning does absolutely nothing to deter him. “No, Sammy. I need- I need to-” He can’t get the words out. His chest _hurts_ , his vision’s blurring, and Sam’s doing very little to disguise the waver in his voice.

_“Calm down.”_ This time, the sheer force in the command is enough to shock him still. When Sam uses that voice, he sounds an awful lot like Dad.

“Sam,” his voice cracks. “What happened?”

His little brother releases him. “After Leigh stitched you up we went our separate ways. We’re a couple hundred miles away from the cabin now.”

Dean looks around. They’re inside a church. Or, what used to be a church, if the dusty pews and shattered stained glass windows are any clue. “Dad?” he croaks. He knows what happened, he does. He just doesn’t _believe_ it yet.

Sam’s eyes dart to the left and Dean follows his gaze. His breath hitches at what he sees. “Is that-?”

“Yeah.”

Their dad’s prone form is wrapped in a sheet.

“Bobby’s on his way,” Sam tells him. “He wants to pay his respects, help us with Hunter’s Rites.”

“How long?”

“An hour. Hour and a half, at the most.”

Dean nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak another word. Not without screaming, or crying, or _something._

A phone rings.

“I’ve got it,” Sam says, reaching for one of their bags. Dean looks on, not really seeing anything as his brother talks to Bobby.

He’d thought, for a while there, that they might all come out of this alive. They’d found dad alive, against all odds. Sure, they’d only had two bullets left, but they were together – seemingly ready for anything.

He should’ve known it was too good to be true.

“He did?” Sam’s slightly raised voice draws his attention. “What else did he say about her?”

_Her._ Dean doesn’t have to guess who they’re talking about. He sits up fully, completely ignoring the pain it causes. _“Sam,”_ he says, trying to inject the same forcefulness his brother had used earlier. “Give me the phone.”

Sam shakes his head, but he does put it on speaker. Then he walks over to sit beside him, using his free hand to maneuver Dean back down.

_“-intel was good. Saved him a lot a trouble.”_ Bobby’s voice crackles and pops through the phone’s shitty speakers. _“He passed her number out to a few others, says that most of them have taken her up on the offer.”_

“And?”

_“They’ve got nothing but good things to say. Apparently quite a few of them have sent Rufus booze as thanks for connecting them.”_

Sam sighs, clearly relieved. “Thanks Bobby. I’m not surprised, but it does make me feel better to know for sure.”

“How do we know she’s not just playing the long game?” Dean asks.

_“Dean?”_ There’s no small amount of relief audible in his voice. _“Didn’t think you’d be up any time soon. How’re you feelin’ boy?”_

“I’m fine,” he bites out. “You got any more information on this psychic?”

_“Sorry, but no. I barely remembered Rufus mentioning Leigh at all. It was only after I got off the phone with Sam that I thought the name sounded familiar. Then I had to call Rufus to be sure.”_ The older man coughs. _“I’d, uh, assumed Leigh was a guy, originally._

_“But none of that’s pressing.”_ The words shock Dean. How the hell is it not pressing? He makes a wordless noise of protest that the older hunter must hear through the phone. _“I can look into this later, after I’ve met up with you boys. Rufus’ll help. If she is bad news, we’ll deal with her together.”_

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam says. “We appreciate it. Give us a call when you get here so I can unlock the gates.”

“Will do.”

They hang up.

Dean, prone on the pew, does his best to angle his head to see Sam’s face. “I don’t trust it. A psychic? Coming out of nowhere to kill the demon dad’s been hunting for twenty years?”

“I know.” Sam stares at the phone in his hand. “But she saved you, so I’m inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Sam-”

His brother cuts him off. “I’m going to get you something to drink from the car. Stay here.”

.

.

.

By the time Bobby arrives, Sam is about ready to pull his hair out. His brother just can’t seem to _sit still_. He keeps trying to get up to check the salt lines, to load the guns, to check the devil’s traps... It’s infuriating.

A blue car pulls into the tiny plot of grass beside the church, blinding him for a moment before the headlights cut out abruptly. He watches as the familiar figure cuts the engine and climbs down from the pick-up truck. “Thanks for coming, you didn’t have to.”

“‘Course I had to,” Bobby says gruffly. “This isn’t something you two should handle on your own.”

Sam smiles weakly at him. “Well, I can’t say I don’t appreciate it. I have the feeling it’ll take both of us to deal with Dean.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam just leads him the rest of the way into the church, where a white-faced Dean is struggling to carve a devil’s trap into the wood floor by the alter.

“Damn it, son.” Bobby moves past him and gently hauls his brother to his feet. “Even I can see you’re in no shape to be moving about. Sit your ass back down.” Mercifully, Dean complies. He even sits quietly as the man pokes and prods at his stitches, despite how painful it must be. “Looks alright to me,” Bobby admits. “Certainly better than anything I could do.”

He replaces the hastily taped gauze and then it’s his turn to press Dean back down. “Don’t move.” The order is accompanied by a glare that manages to keep him where he is, at least for the moment.

While Dean’s still cowed into obedience, Sam pulls Bobby aside, voice low so his brother won’t overhear. “Dean doesn’t know about the hex bag yet, but I thought you might want to take a look. It’s in the duffel, along with instructions for how to make another.”

Bobby nods. “Can’t promise I’ll recognize it, but I’ll check. Go sit with your brother.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean knows Sam and Bobby are hiding something from him. Knows it probably has to do with the psychic even, but he can’t muster the energy to confront them. Getting up to carve that devil’s trap had been a bad idea. The painkillers Sam had given him with the Gatorade weren’t nearly strong enough.

“Dean.” Suddenly, Sam is back at his side. “You okay?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He should reassure Sam, get him to lay off with the concern. Only, it feels like he can’t breathe. He closes his eyes instead.

Sam’s hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder, not pressing, but present. “You should try to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to… say goodbye.”

For a moment, Dean’s confused. Then his brain translates the euphemism and his eyes shoot open. “No! I should help. I should-”

“Sam.” Bobby interrupts them. “C’mere a second.”

With a gentle squeeze, his brother gets up and walks over to him, leaving Dean on the pew. He can’t get up to follow, so he twists his neck and strains to listen in. They’re not far, but it’s a struggle to hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears.

“This is some serious magic.” Bobby’s holding a small brown satchel up. “The ingredients are rare. I can’t even guess their properties because most of them are things I’ve never seen before.”

“But it’s legitimate?”

“Far as I can tell.” Bobby holds up the scrap of paper in his other hand. “There’s more. She left a number,” Bobby tells Sam. “It says for emergencies only.”

Dean’s voice is thin and hoarse when he asks, incredulous, “Is that a _hex bag_?”

Glancing his way, Sam says, “Later, Dean.”

And that’s too much. To be dismissed by his little brother. As if he doesn’t have a right know. “No, Sam. _Now._ What the hell is going on?”

Sam sighs. “Leigh, the psychic, she gave me a hex bag to prevent any and all forms of supernatural tracking.”

“Why would you take it?” Dean demands. “Christ, are we witches now?”

“No, we’re running for our lives! _That’s_ why I took it.” He fixes Dean with a challenging look. “And it’s not like you have any room to talk. I know for a fact you’ve got nothing against rituals and spells when they help you on a hunt.”

“That’s different.”

“ _This_ is different,” Sam argues.

And well, a part of him can’t argue with that.

* * *

Two cars and three states later and Leigh finally feels safe enough to stop, at least for the night. It’s one of the perks of being psychic, being able tell when she’s in immediate danger. For now, she’s okay.

The tiny hotel is dark, when she pulls in. Despite that, she can tell it’s the kind of place she would find quaint in the light of day. It’s small, privately owned, and looks more like a home than a place of business.

It’s about half past five in the morning, so she hopes someone is awake to check her in. She knocks three times before lightly pressing the buzzer. About two minutes later, an elderly man in a fuzzy grey robe and slippers opens the door.

“Sorry to wake you!” Leigh rakes a hand through her hair and adopts her sweetest, most pitiful expression. “I was driving to Boston to look at colleges and I’ve gotten completely turned around. Do you have an extra room? I need to get some sleep before I try to get reoriented.”

He immediately looks sympathetic. “Come on in, I’ll get you settled. We can deal with payment when you wake up.”

 _“Thank you.”_ She really is tired. Driving for more than half the night has left her right leg cramping and her eyes very, very dry. She hardly has it in her to follow the man up the stairs and down the hall.

“Here you are,” he says, pressing a little metal key into her hand. “Get some rest, dear.”

Leigh manages to thank him again and then slips inside. “Oh thank god.” The bed is queen-sized and covered in fluffy white bedding. She stumbles across the room and face plants, barely remembering to remove her backpack before passing the fuck out.

She wakes up at noon the next day.

For a moment, she’s disoriented. The light in her bedroom comes from the right, not the left, and her bed is nowhere near this wide… It comes back to her by the time she rolls over, souring her otherwise good mood.

She’s a _murderer_. A man, a _father_ , is dead because of her. And it wasn’t even something that happened in the heat of the moment. She’d snuck into that cabin knowing she was going to shoot John Winchester.

Her stomach growls, tearing her away from the dark turn her thoughts have taken. Groaning, she feels around for her bag. A moment of panic hits when she can’t find it, but then she sits up and sees it on the floor beside the bed.

Before she can reach for it (and the snacks inside), the shrill beeping of her cell phone echoes in her inner ear. It doesn’t feel urgent, so she knows she’s got at least five minutes before the real call comes through.

In that time, she manages eats two granola bars in bed, drinks half a water bottle, and then prepares herself for what’s sure to be an awkward conversation.

When her cell finally rings for real, she’s fully dressed and seated at the little desk beneath the window. “Leigh speaking,” she says.

“Hey, it’s Sam.” She doesn’t immediately respond, so he starts to talk, “Look, I know you said this number was for emergencies, but I wanted to thank you.” Leigh grimaces. “Without you, I don’t know that my brother would have survived. I don’t know that _I-_ ”

“ _You_ would have lived,” Leigh interjects. Technically, Dean would have lived too, though it would have been at the cost of his father’s eternal soul. It was the whole reason she’d decided to intervene. No one was dead who wouldn’t have ended up dead anyway. And this way, she’s spared John Winchester from a hundred years in hell, even if he did lose a few days of life.

Not that any of those reasons really ease the guilt. A part of her will always wonder if she could have intervened sooner, found some way to save all three.

“Even so,” Sam says, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “My brother’s life is no small thing.”

“No… it’s not.” Leigh sighs, half-regretting her impulsive decision to write her number at the bottom of the hex bag instructions. This is making her feel worse than she already did. “You two need to look out for each other. The things that the demon put in motion won’t be stopped by his death.”

“What things?”

“He was trying to use you, to unleash something evil on the world.” Leigh would have added more, but she’s suddenly accosted by a terrible, niggling feeling. It’s a sign that saying anything more will put the future she wants at risk. “I can’t tell you more. Just… look out for your brother.”

“I will.”

She hangs up just in time.

_“Sam!” Shock first, then heart-wrenching pain. It claws at her insides, even as she rushes forward to staunch the flow of blood. “No!” Her hands – Dean’s hands – are ineffectual. The spark of life behind Sam’s hazel eyes is gone._

It ends as abruptly as it begins. “Well,” she mutters, rubbing her temple in an attempt to ease her sudden headache. “At least I know I haven’t changed the future.” It’s not a happy thought, for all that she hadn’t expected to. She doesn’t _want_ Dean to go to hell, or Lucifer to be freed from his cage, but those aren’t things she has the capacity to avert.

Sam is going to die.

And Dean is going to save him.

 


End file.
